Porcelian
by VikingTeke
Summary: the first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about fight club, but we always have new members in Fight Club. which is fine until one of these new members happens to be a woman. now what dad? well... If this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight. Rated M for violence and lets face it, its fight club. Reviews welcome. enough support and we'll have some mayhem! Thnx!


_i tried to do this from the narrators pov. fight club is one of the best movies i've ever watched and currently the best book i've read... and i read ASOIAF! Do bestow your reviews on me. i need to know if i should quit while i'm ahead. fair warning, Porcelain gets FUBAR so if you cant deal with woman violence stop reading now... and before you set all hell loose on me, last time i checked, i'm a woman too. I firmly believe in gelding any man who would harm his wife or sister or mother, but i'm trying to play around in chuck's mind and this is what i found. so love it or hate it... here it is!_

I could feel my little ball of Zen shudder. Some voice at the back of my skull was screaming stop, another was wondering how did this happen. Then there was Tyler. Tyler was smiling. Just looking at him I could see he was torn between fucking her and fulfilling something deep down inside. Like a wet dream that crawled out of your head and lay there waiting for you.

My mother was crying in the kitchen. The vacuum salesman had done his job and left. You'd think after the insurance salesman she'd learn.

Tyler was never in the same room as Marla.

Tyler was still working this out as she lifted her head to ask for a challenger. No-one had moved. Beating the cookie dough out of a man was fine, we were a generation of men raised by woman, and we did not need another one. Yet here she was, tits and a porcelain doll face. Tyler had finally become unglued, idly, he moved to the centre of the circle. She drew herself up ready.

"The first rule of fight club is-"

"I heard you, no-one told me, and I was following him."

She pointed at the man with peroxided hair still sporting a green bruise from last week's fight. He was looking everywhere but the pulsing red boil on fight club. Had she been stalking angel face?

High school, two girls giggling as I walked past. At work girls huddled together and asked each other what had happened to my face.

I spent a moment wondering who it had been who had screwed her as a five year old. Father? Brothers? Some dodgy uncle that loved touching her teeny tiny girly bits? She was watching Tyler through eyes that were both wary and excited.

Tyler shrugged.

"Blondey, get in there. "

For a second she seemed unsure. Angel face too, all nervous and skittery as he made his way to the circle. She smiled as she flicked of her jacket and shirt. Cookie dough and ribs, and perky tits held tightly to her chest by a black sports bra. She smiled as the circle around them wolf whistled. She kicked off her shoes, shrinking by a good four inches. Angel face still seemed scared; she bounced from foot to foot, waiting for him to take off his shoes and shirt. We were all watching those perky mounds on her chest that separated her from us.

Mother in the arms of some friend as yet another man had fucked her and left, asking what was wrong with her, as if it wasn't clear enough. After all I was playing in the next room wasn't i? No-one wanted left-overs. My own father didn't even want to raise me, why would any of these guys bother?

Angel face finally pulled off his shirt and shoes. There was hunger on her face. Maybe it wasn't daddy or some other family male who fucked her, maybe it was a number of boyfriends who beat her until she had to resort to gothic make-up to hide the black eyes, and bruises. My mother was making breakfast for the new husband, crying silently over the lipstick she had found on his shirt.

They circled each other, every eye waiting for something that they all wanted. We all wanted to fuck her and fight her, then leave her in the dirt. She was the mother who raised us alone, all the girls who rejected us, everything we loved and hated about woman and Marla, if only Marla was this good looking. At last there was that glorious moment of release.

Her tiny fist slammed Angel face on the nose, not enough to do damage, at least not to him. He was less cookie dough than he had been last week.

"Ow, Fuck!"

She said it and then she was laughing. Angel face was shaking his head, looking for something deep in his balls that would allow him to hit her. She stopped shaking her fist and looked at him with contempt. My mother had looked at me like that enough times for me to just not give a damn when she pulled it. Apparently she struck a nerve. He hit back, his fist connecting with an arm she threw up to block him. The bastard wasn't even trying. By now no-one was making a sound. We were all waiting for a storm to break, a new level of freedom, a reason to enjoy this. Then he hit her hard. She was flung into a wall of bodies as his fist met her pretty little face.

The boil was ruptured, trickling pus and diseased blood, lashing out at angel face as he began beating out the corruption and filth, blows raining on her face and body. Blows she returned. If he went soft on her, she mocked him with bitch slaps. The silence was gone, filled instead with our starved yells and growls. The dull packing sound we all loved the occasional insult of a slap. We were all living through angel face, tearing apart mothers, girlfriends and wives. And Marla, definitely Marla.

He had her by the hair and pounding her in that wad of cookie dough that was her belly. The way she was curled back, the way her neck open and vulnerable, her anguished moans. It turned us on, we all wanted her in that moment, and we were space monkeys screaming for our banana. There are millions of banana's that come from some country or another and when you peel back the skin, there's a mother fucking tarantula in your face. It's a knee to your testicles, robbing you of a simple pleasure in life. Angel face was doubled over. We had enjoyed his pleasure, we felt his pain. More blood and less pus, the boil was coming clean.

"C'mon little princess."

She laughed as she said it. There was only one person I had seen laugh a mouth full of blood like that was Tyler. Angel face coughed, and then tackled her onto the concrete. Cheering again. The porcelain doll faces cracking under angel face's fists. She had dug what was left of her nails into his pale sides, no doubt trying to open him up. Angel face was more than that. She resorted to trying to break his ribs, trying to kick. She clearly would've rather been on top.

Double barrel to the chest with tiny fists. Angel face was winded and it was all she needed to launch him off.

Angel-face was one of the skinnies. She was definitely the skinniest here, skinny people fight until they're burger and she was clearly one of those. Tyler knew this when he called in angel face to fight her. She was spewing blood, half blind and trying to stand. Angel face didn't give her the chance. He kicked her.

And kicked her.

And kicked her.

And then she had had enough. She attached herself to his leg.

Think of that little dog that humps your leg desperately while everyone else watches trying not to laugh.

He was off balance and trying to pummel her off. Tricky minx only twisted her legs in between his. We all come tumbling down…

She had a vendetta against angel face's stomach and ribs.

Blood

Pus

Blood

More pus

Both

Blood

Blood

Blood.

And he kicked her.

Even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.

Fragment of tooth; check.

Fragment of Angel Face's tooth. Check.

And now the lovers embrace. Fingers through hair. Head-butt. Snorting blood. Deranged Tyler type laugh. Tackle. Pound out pus, no, blood just blood, she's clean.

And then she was done. She tapped the concrete with bloodied hands. Angel face still perched on top of her, fist suspended, other hand wrapped up in her long black hair. I am jacks irrational erection.

"You ok?"

"Good fight."

There's always this moment after the fight. A mutual respect as you help each other stand. No resentment that you've lost, rather gratitude that you've released that sad and confined part of a soul. There are no vendettas at fight club other than the ones you leave in someone else's receiving body. They take your rage, your pain and wash it clean. You do the same for them. We were all Gods and all disciples. No church has it this good.

Tyler was clapping off to my left somewhere; she was one of us now, reborn in blood. I wondered if she was the type of person who bought Tyler's soap in the real world. Angel face would know. That didn't matter here of course.

She took her place in the circle, pulling on her tank top and growling with the rest of us as the next two guys began to pound each other. The woman where she worked would smother her with concern and tears and when she was gone, launch into gossip ranging from the usual abusive relationship to affairs to a twisted late night fetish. If they came to that conclusion they might not be entirely wrong. We were raised by this sort of two faced being.

Did my mother know her new husband was fucking her best friend? Probably. Porcelain was just like us, she knew and she embraced what we were. Lost souls looking for release, and finding power. I wondered if she had any plans for motherhood. Somehow I hoped not. Blood was still dripping from her face.

Everything's a copy of a copy of a copy but every once in a while there's a glitch in the system. We were that glitch and now we had a glitch. Tyler and I watched her walk away after fight club. Four inches added to her height, returning to the real world one stilettoed click at a time. Given a few fights the porcelain doll would be an ivory dagger. Tyler seemed delighted.

I'm sure there were female space monkeys too. Pushing buttons and pulling levers. Or making more little baby space monkeys. She'd be back. And she'd fight more than just angel face. I had watched her eye everyone up. Planning the attack for the day she was tagged. We all wanted goddess blood.

"Who would you rather fight? Doll face or Marla?"

I hoped Tyler wasn't getting any ideas.


End file.
